The Enemy Within

One, a gray-haired Navy captain, nodded when she asked after Peter.

“Colonel Thorn? Yeah. He’s around here somewhere, ma’am.” He looked up, squinting further down the riverbank against the floodlights. Then he pointed toward a lone figure staring out across the water. “That’s him.”

Helen nodded her thanks and moved on.

Peter Thorn looked up at her approach. His drawn face held a look of anger and sorrow stronger than any she had ever seen before. “This was deliberate?” he asked grimly.

She nodded. “Several hundred eyewitnesses have reported seeing two or three distinct missile trails merging with the plane. And we know where the terrorists fired from. The canal park. They killed an innocent bystander there. We found the body this afternoon.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m afraid it gets worse, Peter,” she said gently. “Somebody blew up the main fuel storage tanks at Dallas/Fort Worth International two hours ago. Several hundred thousand gallons of jet fuel went up in seconds. They’re still trying to fight the fires and make some estimate of the damage and casualties, but it’s pretty bad.”

She paused briefly before delivering the rest of her news. “The local papers here and in Dallas have already had phone calls claiming responsibility for both attacks. They seem genuine.”

“From the god damned New Aryan Order?”

Helen shook her head. “No. These came from a group called the African Liberation Front. They claimed they were retaliating against the ‘Nazi white establishment.’ ”

“Christ. That’s all we need.” Peter looked away again, out toward the floodlit river. His eyes were full of pain. “I became a soldier to fight the kind of bastards who would do something like this. The kind who shoot down airliners full of women and kids just to make some lousy political point. But now it’s happening right here at home, and I can’t do a single thing to stop it.”

She moved closer, into the circle of his arms. “I know,” she said softly.

He held her tighter, softly stroking her hair taking what comfort he could from her presence and her warmth.

CHAPTER 15 REACTION TIME

NOVEMBER 15

JSOC headquarters, North Carolina.

Officers from three separate services and several different units filled the JSOC’s main conference room. Delta Force officers mingled with their counterparts from the Navy’s SEAL Team Six, the Air Force’s air commando units, the Army’s Ranger forces, and the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, the Night Stalkers. While they waited for Major General Sam Farrell to appear, they chatted quietly among themselves, exchanging theories about why they had been summoned on such short notice.

Colonel Peter Thorn finished talking to Bill Henderson, his successor at Delta’s A Squadron, and moved off toward the water cooler. His throat still hurt from the kerosene he’d swallowed in the Potomac, but the Pentagon doctors had cleared him for continued duty, with the sternly worded proviso that he significantly increase his fluid intake for the next seventy-two hours.

“Attention.”

The single, crisp order cut off every conversation in midsentence. Every man turned toward the entrance to the conference room and came to attention.

The commander of the JSOC appeared there suddenly, flanked by his top operations officer, Colonel Raymond Ziegler. The general had a grim, set expression on his face. Ziegler’s face was studiously blank.

Farrell waved them into the chairs surrounding a long, rectangular conference table. “Please take your seats, gentlemen. We have a lot of ground to cover this afternoon.”

The general strode to the head of the table while Thorn and the other officers found their assigned places. He didn’t waste any time on the regular briefing platitudes. “I just got off the phone with the Joint Chiefs. As of 1500 hours today, all elements of this command are on full alert. All leaves have been canceled, and my staff is already issuing an immediate recall order to all affected personnel.”

Despite the earlier speculation, Thorn was surprised. Before he’d flown down to Pope Air Force Base earlier that morning he’d seen no signs of unusual activity at the Pentagon that might explain this sudden order. Washington’s policy makers, the FBI, and the American people were still in a state of shock over the twin disasters at Dallas/Fort Worth and National Airport. Had someone stumbled across the headquarters of a terrorist cell big enough to warrant all this military attention?

Farrell’s next words dashed that faint hope. “Gentlemen, the President has authorized a number of emergency measures in a coordinated effort to safeguard air travel over the capital and this country’s other major cities. This operation has been designated SAFE SKIES.”